Leanne, Katie and the Very Confusing Gift
by Chasing Uncertainties
Summary: Leanne was sixteen when she thought she saw Katie Bell die./ A story about an un-extraordinary witch and an extraordinary one. For the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition's semi-finals.


Leanne, Katie and the Very Confusing Gift

Prompts: 14-dialogue: 'we were, weren't we?', 8-the three broomsticks1, 3-snow

* * *

Leanne was sixteen when she thought she saw Katie Bell die.

Anyone else would have thought the same as the strange necklace lifted her up in the air like a marionette, but for Leanne, it was especially wrenching, due to the series of events that had preceded it. It was wrenching because she thought that she was never going to get a chance to apologize or reconcile or resolve anything with Katie.

Leanne had never been an extraordinary person. Her Muggle mother was cynical of her and her father's talents but kept her opinions mostly to herself.. When they were around Mother's Muggle community, the story was that she went to a boarding school in Scotland (true), and there was no mention of magic. She never minded, for Leanne had never craved the spotlight. In fact, she sort of detested it. They always said she took after her mother in that way, staying quiet but respectable, calm and collected, the peacemaker. Leanne didn't see or do extraordinary.

Not, apparently, until her sixth year.

Katie Bell was sort of extraordinary. She was the youngest Quidditch player ever to make a House Team before Harry Potter. She was pretty and outgoing and, if not smart, at least clever sometimes. Katie Bell was _witty. _And Leanne never would have expected to end up associating with a girl like her. But it happened, and it happened on a Sunday morning by the lake—but not before someone else happened on a Tuesday evening on the second floor staircase with the missing stair.

Leanne was in her first year, a mere eleven-year-old who didn't know her way around and was still limping from the time she sprained her ankle in the summer and never asked to get looked at by the doctor, because it 'hadn't seemed very bad at the time'.

She was ascending the staircase minding her own business and even humming when she put her foot on the next step and it simply wasn't there. Her bad ankle gave and her leg sunk straight down through the stairwell into nothingness. It was ridiculous, really. If she had stopped to look back at the situation, she would have wondered why the architects at Hogwarts thought it would be a good idea to make a vanishing staircase. But Leanne was too busy panicking about the fact that she was now stuck, waist deep, in a staircase, with her hip throbbing and hands stinging. Not to mention, her free foot would be useless in getting her out due to its sprain. And her Transfiguration textbook had just skidded all the way down the massive staircase. She put her head down on the cool step for a moment and groaned.

It is not to say that Leanne didn't try getting herself out of the mess. She tried manoeuvring herself to face down the stairs so she could swing her trapped leg out of the gaping hole. She tried pushing herself up with arm strength, something she lacked in. But all was for naught, and Leanne ended up sitting there, half-in the staircase and half-out, thinking about the stupidity of the entire situation. Staring at her Transfiguration textbook and the lacing on her free shoe, Leanne muttered, "This has got to be a joke."

"Certainly is," said a cheerful voice from behind her.

Leanne whipped her head around. "Who said—oh."

A red-haired boy with a sweater bearing a large knit _G _was making his way down the stairs toward her. He looked older, if only a little. He wore a mischievous smile. "This whole castle's a joke, really. I think it's got a sense of humour." On second thought, he added, "I'm George."

"Erm…Would you mind helping me out of here? Only my ankle's sprained, and I wouldn't ask otherwise, but…"

"Oh!" he said brightly. "No worries." George lifted her easily from the invisible step. "Why don't you go to Madam Pomfrey?"

"Er…" Leanne coughed. "I wouldn't want to…it's just a silly ankle."

George raised an eyebrow. "But…you need your ankles to walk."

"I really don't think—"

"Come on," he said, taking her wrist firmly. "I'm taking you to the grand Hogwarts hospital."

Leanne was bright pink. "Um, George, I don't think that's really necessary, I don't want to bother you or—or—Madam Pomfrey."

"Don't be a prat," sighed George, running down the staircase ahead of Leanne to pick up her Transfiguration book. "Can you walk?"

"Yes, I can _walk_. I told you," she said, "I sprained my ankle in the summer."

"You didn't tell me that. But it's fine. You must be a first year, huh? My brother's in first year. And you're a Hufflepuff. What're you doing up here?"

Clearing her throat, Leanne mumbled, "I needed to ask Professor McGonagall for help with something. It's the stupid…it's just homework."

George made a sympathetic face as they walked down the corridor. "All homework is stupid, Leanne. S'alright. I have a special tactic I use when homework is difficult. Works like magic."

She eyed him curiously. "What?"

"Just don't do it!" he exclaimed. "Then you can feed it to the Giant Squid and say you lost it." The older redhead looked proud, like he had come up with this foolproof plan himself. Leanne eyed him strangely. He _did_, she supposed, seem like the sort who wouldn't bother with such trivial things as homework.

"Fine," George shrugged after a moment, "You don't like my idea. Go the proper way then, ask McGonagall for help and work until you fall asleep. _I _like my method."

Leanne wasn't sure how to respond, once again. "Ah…alright. I think I'll stick to the old-fashioned way."

"So you know my little brother?" asked George abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Ginger, Gryffindor, 'bout this tall, kind of a twat? Name's Ron. Hangs out with the famous Harry Potter."

"Harry…who?" said Leanne uncomfortably

"Man." George shook his head. "You don't know Harry Potter? Thought everyone knew about him. Y'know, first year, most famous wizard of our age, killed You-Know-Who when he was a baby?"

It rung a bell. And now, thinking about it, Leanne recalled the upstart that had occurred when a small black-haired boy had been sorted after her. "Oh…I guess…dad's mentioned him once. We don't really talk about magic at home."

"Shame. You're a half-blood, then? Does your mum not like magic? I don't know why Muggles dislike it really. I think magic's fantastic. When I'm seventeen, I'm never going to wash anything by myself again. No dishes, no laundry, nothing. Honestly, I think everyone should get to be a wizard."

"You know, Muggles don't have to do their own laundry," mumbled Leanne. "You know…dish washer. Washing machine."

George looked at her with sheer confusion. "What's a washing machine?"

"Never mind," said Leanne quickly, not wanting to explain. "Is…this it?"

"Behold the infirmary."

"Do I have to?" asked Leanne.

George, ignoring her question completely, called, "Madam _Pomfreeeey_!"

A kindly-looking—albeit seemingly stern—older woman bustled over. "Was it you that called?" she asked George.

"What? Me? Oh. Yeah. Yes. See, my friend here sprained her ankle and she needs some sort of potion, so she can walk."

All Madam Pomfrey did was rummage through her pocket. "Sprained ankle? Easy. Muggle injury. Take this, dear, all of it." She handed Leanne a small bottle of something green.

The potion was disgusting, and it made pain shoot through Leanne's bad ankle, but all she could think about was how George had referred to her as his friend.

* * *

Leanne met Katie Bell the following Saturday, on the uncharacteristically nice September day, when numerous students were doing their homework on the lawn in front of the lake. Leanne was alone—the one tentative friend she had made, Hannah Abbot, had taken a strange interest to Herbology and was spending the day in the library. So she sat on the grass, toes in the lake, scribbling onto her paper contentedly.

"Excuse me," a vaguely familiar voice said from behind her. Leanne whipped her head around. She saw before her the girl from the infirmary on Tuesday.

"Um. Hi. Hello?" said Leanne said nervously, eyeing Katie nervously and wondering what she had done wrong.

"Hi," Katie waved. "I'm Katie Bell. Are you a third year? Because I think you were in the hospital wing the other day. I saw you with George Weasley. So I was wondering if you could maybe help me with this Herbology homework because I can't figure out what makes a Rafflesia Arnoldis different from a Nepenthes flower. Aside from the smell and the different colour."

"I'm. Um." Leanne coughed. "I'm not a third year. But…" she pointed to the diagram of the Rafflesia Arnoldis, "That's not a flower, and I think I read that it's carnivorous and you can tell that the Nepenthes flower definitely isn't. So. If that helps. Then. Well."

Katie Bell looked mildly impressed, dipping her quill in Leanne's ink and scribbling the her words onto parchment. "Say. You're rather smart for a first-year! Thanks! It's Leanne, isn't it?"

"Yes. Leanne." After a moment, she decided to add, "I'm in Hufflepuff."

"Oh. I'm a Gryffindor. You ever watch the Quidditch matches? I'm a chaser."

Leanne lit up at the mention of Quidditch. "Yeah! Sometimes, I mean. I'd love to play it. But I don't think I'd be good enough to make the team. I follow the Appleby Arrows, though." She blushed then, afraid of having said too much.

With an immense amount of certainty, Katie waved her arm and said, "Nonsense. Try out next year, when you're allowed. And me, I like Puddlemere United. They're the favourites for this year!"

The Quidditch conversation started something special, a friendship to the likes of which Leanne had never experienced before. There was some sort of unspoken agreement between them, that they would meet in between classes or before mealtimes or on Saturdays and talk, talk, talk about anything. Be it school or the teachers or Quidditch or other people, they never seemed to run out of topics; this was a first for Leanne. She wasn't used to having people like Katie. It made her fall asleep with a warm feeling inside.

* * *

"Look. I'm not saying he _dis_likes you, I'm just not saying he's interested in a _romance. _He's an adult now, you know? Him and Fred have moved on with their lives. They have a store and everything. They're not stuck here anymore."

Katie had to speak loudly against the hollering wind and Leanne had to strain to hear. They were walking against the storm towards Hogsmeade, in the middle of something that was verging on an argument.

"We're friends!" called Leanne indignantly over the wind. "I wasn't asking if George _likes _me, you know. I only meant that we've stayed close."

"Well then you asked if I thought he liked you, so I assumed that—"

"Only because you were insinuating that he didn't like me at all!"

George Weasley had become a sore topic for Leanne. She knew how well he and Katie got on, and she knew how much he liked her, she knew about all of their inside jokes from Quidditch (she never had made the Quidditch team, another spot of resentment). She knew how Katie was like a confidante to George; and even though Leanne and him had managed to grow into friends while he was a student at Hogwarts, she couldn't help feeling a spot of jealousy.

Not only that, but Katie was persistent that Leanne fancied him, which she brought up almost weekly, even though George had left a year ago. She maintained that she didn't, for of course, George was a lost cause and treated her like his little sister.

Katie Bell was undoubtedly classifiable as amazing. But lately she was rubbing Leanne the wrong way with her good looks and likable personality and Quidditch skills and the way she was always able to make things seem effortless. _Why_, Leanne wondered on a daily basis now, _would she even bother with a person like me? _It was tiring to always be in someone else's shadow.

"You know what, Leanne, just don't bother," said Katie, tone veering dangerously close to upset. "It's completely obvious that you fancy George Weasley, and I don't care what you say, because honestly, you won't stop talking about him."

They turned into the Three Broomsticks and Leanne was grateful for the warmth and reprise from the snow. She made a sour face. "Well, you know what? Perhaps if you didn't fancy him, you wouldn't be acting so jealous."

Katie sat down at a table near the door. "_Jealous_? You're turning this on me?"

"I am _not_," snapped Leanne, "I'm just saying that you're acting very strange, for someone who claims not to care."

She stared at Leanne, opened and closed her mouth twice. "I—" Katie shook her head. "I'm going to the washroom." Turning abruptly on her heel, she stalked away, leaving Leanne alone with the bartender that had just walked up.

"A butterbeer, please," she said sulkily, slapping two sickles on the hardwood table.

Looking around sourly, Leanne tried to ignore the pit in her stomach. She hated fighting with people, she hated fighting with _Katie_, and she hated the resentment she felt towards the Gryffindor.

"This is ridiculous," Leanne mumbled to herself as she sipped her just-ordered butterbeer. "Ridiculous." But she couldn't make herself believe her own words.

The minutes ticked by, and Leanne had all but finished her butterbeer when Katie walked back over to her table, looking oddly dazed and holding a package that certainly hadn't been there before. "Leanne," she said, "Leanne, we need to go home."

"What?"

"Back to Hogwarts. I don't feel well."

There was no mention of the mysterious package. No mention of their fight. No mention of anything. She didn't even carry a tone of hostility.

Cautiously, Leanne stood up and walked towards the door. "Alright," she said, "…Why don't you feel well? Was it something in the breakfast?"

Katie frowned. "I dunno," she said, "I just feel really odd. I think it's best if we go back to the castle. I need some sleep and I've got loads of homework. Hogsmeade was a bad idea today."

"What…if this is about our fight," Leanne said, "I'm sure we could talk about it."

"No!" Katie snapped, then lowered her voice to a normal tone, walking out into the snow. "No, it's…not? I told you already Leanne, I want to go home."

They trudged down the path back towards Hogwarts. "I don't understand, Leanne, why can't you just tell me what's going on….and tell me why you have a package, will you? Where's it even from?"

"Maybe I have a secret admirer," said Katie secretively, holding the parcel close to her.

"I'm serious. Who gave that to you?"

"Why do you care so much?" demanded Katie, voice rising. "Maybe there's a boy who likes me and wants to give me a gift! You don't have to act…_jealous_ about it." She said mockingly.

"Just give it to me. I want to see it."

"No!"

"Come on, Katie!" Leanne felt irrationally desperate and fearful as she tugged the package from her friend's hands. But Katie yanked it back with equal strength, and Leanne retaliated, tearing the parcel to reveal a necklace.

The hole in Katie's hand brushed the necklace just enough and, all life sliding off her face, she rose into the air, doll-like, as if suspended by strings.

Unable to help herself, Leanne screamed reflexively at the top of her voice.

Everything became a blur.

She remembered a trio of sixth-years turning back, staring at Katie in horror. She remembered the Gamekeeper coming to take Katie to the infirmary. She, in the back of her mind, remembered being questioned by Professor McGonagall, remembered hearing that Katie would go to St. Mungo's hospital for several weeks. She recalled wondering what she had done wrong, who had given the necklace to Katie, and she remembered not being able to sleep for weeks.

It was a dreary Wednesday when, sitting alone at the Hufflepuff table, Leanne received a note from Professor McGonagall.

_Katie Bell is back at the Hogwarts infirmary, and will take visitors before he release next week_, it read.

* * *

Leanne's mind was swirling. They had fought, something they had been on the brink of for months. Years. And she felt almost responsible for Katie being cursed, like if she had pulled the packet from a different angle, it wouldn't have caught the hole in her glove.

Now she wondered, how was Katie going to greet her? Was there going to be glares and hostility?

Tentatively she opened the curtain to Katie's hospital bed, surveying her friend. "Katie—"

"I'm sorry," Katie said immediately, staring at Leanne solemnly.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I was a dick. I'm sorry."

"Katie, I basically cursed you. I was a dick. I was being jealous."

"We were both being dicks."

Katie gave a genuine smile. "We were, weren't we?"

"Definitely were."

She sat down next to her friend. "So no more jealousy then, right? And no more weirdness?"

Was it that simple?

"None." Katie giggled. Paused.

"…But I still think you fancy George Weasley."

"Do _not!"_

Leanne shoved her, hard, but there was something light-hearted about it. There was something hopeful.


End file.
